The Third Quarter Quell
by UnpredictableW1tch
Summary: Iris Regan has always hated the Hunger Games. She had seen what they did to her own father. Her brother. Her sister. All of them were Tributes. Though they survived, the Games stayed with them, haunted them, from then on. She has done everything she could to avoid the games. But, no one ever has a choice when it came to the Hunger Games, did they?
1. The Victory Tour

**Chapter One**

 **The Victory Tour**

* * *

It was that time of year again.

The Victory tour.

But this year, for the first time in decades, the victor was from District 12.

And for the first time in history, there were two of them. Yes, two. Not one, as was tradition. But two. Two young lovers who would have poisoned themselves rather than kill each other. Who almost did just that. Rather than have no Victor at all, the Capitol allowed them both to live in a display of unprecedented mercy.

Or so their unending propaganda would like everyone in Panem to believe.

Iris was more than a little suspicious of all of it. She kept that to herself, of course. Mostly. She and Mia talked about it at length, when they were sure they wouldn't be overheard. Because if they were, the peacekeepers would take a few reams of flesh from their backs.

She didn't know what game the Capitol was playing at. But she was sure it was something that was really, really big.

What gave her that notion, Iris couldn't put her finger on. But it was a feeling she couldn't shake, no matter how much she tried. Whenever those two, Katniss Everdeen and Peta Mellark, appeared on their television screens, or came up in conversation, a terrible chill came over her.

She didn't know either of them. Not even a little.

Though that wasn't unusual. The Capitol kept all of the Districts so stringently separated that it was impossible to meet or even speak to anyone who wasn't from your own District. One of the only exceptions to that iron clad separation was the Games. The Tributes all knew each other, if only a tiny bit, before the Games began. They met during training. And the interviews. The Capitol had to let them interact, otherwise the alliances that made the Games so tantalising to their citizens wouldn't have a chance of coming into being.

And there was no real danger in it, of course. Because all but one of them always died about a week or two later.

The only other display of leniency was the Victory Tour. Then the Victor, in this case Victors, travelled around all the Districts. So they could be goggled at by everyone in the twelve Districts, and gape at them in return.

It hardly allowed for any time to make friendships. Or even have a conversation beyond 'It's an honour to meet you'. But that was the entire point, Iris supposed.

But she _knew_ they were important. Much more so than any Victor before them. The how only remained to be seen.

Why else would President Snow let them live?

Iris didn't know them. But she would very soon.

The Victory tour was well underway. Televised constantly. Though it didn't seem to be going very well, for the Capitol, anyway. The Districts were wild with anticipation of … something.

And they were set to arrive in District 4 in only a day's time.

As the granddaughter of the Mayor of District 4, Iris would have to be up on stage with them while they gave their simpering little speeches. The same ones every Victor had spouted since The Games began all those years ago.

Iris hadn't paid attention to those things in years. Not since she was a little girl. It was always the same old propaganda anyway. Panem united. Panem forever. Panem this, Panem that.

It was endlessly dull. But she had to at least pretend to be interested.

Because while the cameras were rolling, the eyes of the nation, and more importantly the Capitol were on her and her entire family. If they were seen to be dissenting in any way, or disrespecting the Victors or President Snow, there would be consequences. Terrible consequences. The likes of which she had seen a long time ago, and never wished to see ever again.

She still had nightmares about that afternoon from time to time. More often than she'd ever willingly admit to.

The Regans were not the best family to be a part of. And Iris didn't like them very much. But she'd do anything and everything in her power to prevent any of them suffering through something like that.

Iris spent the days leading up to the arrival of the Victors the same as she did almost every other day of the year.

She went to school, very unwillingly.

She did all the chores that were required of her around the house.

Aside from that, she continued to spend almost all her time in the company of Mia, her dearest friend. And they both thought about the Victory Tour as little as humanly possible.

Instead of dwelling on that depressing eventuality, they swam, ran along the beaches until their legs refused to move them another inch. They hunted for sea glass. Had competitions to see who could free dive the longest. Iris won every time. As she always did.

They both did everything in their power to remain away from their families for as much time as they could possibly manage. Instead choosing to whittle away the hours in the company of each other.

They made for an odd pair, Iris and Mia. But they had been absolutely inseparable since they first met, when they were three years old.

Iris knew Mia better than she knew herself. The same reverse was true as well. They could even be heard finishing each other's sentences. And communicating not through words, but looks and tiny little gestures that made no sense whatsoever to anyone else.

You would hardly, if ever, see one unattached to the other. But they did look a rather strange couple.

Where Mia was polite, put together, and pretty, Iris was wild, unabashed, and bombastic. While Mia sported silky black locks that swayed whenever she moved, Iris had a thick mane of untameable copper curls. Where Mia was very tall and positively statuesque, Iris was small and really quite skinny. All sinew and bone. Built like the habitual swimmer she was. Instead of being excessively freckled like Iris, Mia only shared her sun kissed complexion.

But the thing that really bonded them so strongly to one another, was a difficult home life. And the desire to avoid the majority of their blood relatives like they had an infectious, skin melting disease.

They were each other's safe space.

But days like the Victory Tour made it damn near impossible for them to be together. Their safe space, was completely off limits.

Which only made all of the publicity days all the more horrible. For both of them.

And it was for that reason, admittedly among others, that Iris had absolutely no willpower to get out of bed the morning the Victor's train was set to arrive at the Justice Building.


	2. Preparations and Tribulations

**Chapter Two**

 **Preparations and Tribulations**

* * *

Iris called it home. Grudgingly. Curtsy of her grandfather's job, it was where he and her grandmother, their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren all lived. It was suffocatingly overpopulated. Mostly with people she couldn't stand.

So, she stayed in bed. Even when she heard the rest of the family up and about. And stayed even when her mother pounded on her bedroom door and shouted through it loudly enough to shake the walls.

"You'd better be up by now Iris!"

Rosa knew damn well her youngest daughter was not out of bed.

Which is why she was back not even five minutes later.

"Iris! Get up now, or I'll send Sarah in there," she threatened with another volley of bangs against the door. It was probably close to giving in by then.

Still, Iris remained in bed.

Her mother had pissed her off so much last night, that Iris was _not_ going to make that morning's preparations easy for her. She could send Sarah in to break down the door and drag her from her bed by her hair if she wanted. It'd be worth it, in Iris' opinion. Even if her elder sister ripped out a few chunks. She was just angry enough not to care.

Sure enough, that's exactly what happened. Well, everything but chunks of scalp being ripped from Iris' skull. Sarah did, however, break into her room and forcibly eject her from her very comfortable bed.

Cold feet on the warm deck and all.

Once she was removed from her mattress Sarah dragged her from the room, down the hall, and into the bathroom. Where the overwhelming stench of perfume and flowers assaulted Iris' senses. It was so vial that she gagged, and shook off her sister's iron grip and lunged for the toilet, fearing she would get sick. Sarah scoffed at her dramatics and pulled Iris back into her grip.

"Stop with your dramatics, will you?" she demanded as she dragged Iris further into the bathroom, toward the source of the putrid smell.

A bathtub that smelled like every florist in the District vomited into it.

"Just get the fuck in," Sarah sighed, giving Iris what approximated a gentle shove, by Sarah's standards. Which were far different to an ordinary human being's standards.

Meaning she all but shoved Iris into the bath with her nightgown still on. Iris caught herself before she went in head over heels. Then turned to glare at her sister who was doubled over with laughter at her expense.

"That's not gonna happen with you in here," Iris finally replied spitefully, "I do know how to bathe myself. I'm not that incompetent."

"Good to know. Maybe you should start acting like it," Sarah shot back at her before she turned on her heel and stalked out of the bathroom with her usual overdramatic flair.

Iris used a great deal of self-restraint to stop herself yelling after her sister, her throwing a very rude hand gesture her way. Both of which would only dig her deeper into Sarah's bad side. Which was a place only the suicidal intentionally put themselves. And contrary to her family's belief, Iris was not suicidal.

So, she took a deep breath, stripped, and climbed into the awful concoction that had been prepared for her. She washed as quickly as she could, in the hope that the stench wouldn't cling to her. Alas, it did. The cloying smell of the perfumes would probably stick to her skin for the next few days, it was that noxious.

When she returned to her room, wrapped in a long towel, which now reeked as well, she found it occupied. By the one member of her family she actually liked. Her oldest brother, Nolan, sat on the edge of her unmade bed with a tired look in his eyes, not at all lifted by the smile he wore.

"Iris," he gestured for her to take a seat beside him.

She obliged, and flopped down onto the mattress by his side. Leaned against his shoulder for support, and sagged with the relief of seeing a friendly face.

"Could you do me a favour?" he asked, though he already knew she would.

"What?"

"Don't cause any more of a fuss today. Please. This's gonna be a hard day for all of us. So just, pretend, until the cameras are gone."

"No promises," she spat back venomously, remembering the shouting match that went on between her and Rosa the night before.

"Just play your part, for a few hours. For me?" he pleaded.

As always, Iris couldn't say no to her brother, so she agreed despite how little she wanted to do anything to make her mother's life easier right then.

"Alright, I will. But you owe me, like, twelve for this."

"Yeah, I owe you twelve," Nolan agreed easily, "Now get dressed, act like you know what manners are, and pretend you're in a completely different, wonderful place, until we can get back inside where there isn't anyone filming us."

"Okay, but that's not going to happen with an audience," Iris declared, pointing her brother to the door.

"Point taken," Nolan admitted, and heaved himself up from Iris' bed. He then pulled her into a tight hug that strained her muscles and bones from its firmness, "I know it's awful, but we have to do this. Just try to remember that it's worth it."

"I will," Iris promised, "Now get out."

Nolan laughed and released her, giving her one last indulgent smile before he left her room and shut the door firmly behind him.

When she was alone Iris sighed, and turned to inspect the clothes her mother and sister had laid out for her to wear for their camera show. It was a very pretty outfit, Iris could admit. Despite how little she wanted to admit it, she knew quite a bit about fashion, thanks to all of the ridiculous banquets she had to attend due to her grandfather being mayor.

She knew just enough to know that all of this was new. It wasn't part of her own wardrobe, and it wasn't borrowed from either her mother or sister's closets. It made sense. She'd outgrown a lot of her own fancy attire. And Iris wasn't yet, and probably never would be, curvaceous enough to fill out any of their more grown up hand-me-downs. But she did feel bad that her family had probably spent a lot of money on it all. Iris wasn't known to be particularly careful with clothing, and she doubted much of it would last through the press coverage. Hell, it mightn't even make it to the beginning of the spectacle.

The ensemble was made up of a silky white slip that felt like water running through her fingers. A pair of light cream leather oxfords, which Iris had to admit looked very nice, and surprisingly practical. It was easy to tell that it hadn't been her mother who picked that part of the outfit. Along with a pair of long white stockings that matched the slip.

Its crowning glory was the dress. Pale, pearly white chiffon. She guessed it would hit just below knee length. High necked with a schoolgirl collar, and crocheted lace trimmings along the hem and faux pearl buttons.

It was lovely.

Iris was a little nervous about putting it on, in case she tore it.

Whoever chose it did an excellent job of picking something out that Iris would actually want to keep perfectly intact. It was the only piece of formal wear she owned that she really liked. A good strategy for keeping her in check, she saw. She didn't want to do anything to ruin the lovely dress that had been given to her.

So, when Iris dressed, she did so with more care than she ever had in the past. The result was quite different to all the other times she had to dress up. The outfit was tighter and more restrictive than what she usually wore. But she couldn't deny that she looked good.

It was the only time she could remember that she liked how she looked in formal wear. A strange thing to admit to herself, given how much she hated fancy clothes, and all of the occasions that required her to wear it.

Just as she finished fixing the dress to fall properly her door swung open once again. When Iris turned around she wasn't surprised to see that it was Sarah striding through the doorway. Already dressed to the nines herself, in a tight deep green full length dress with her hair done up in an elaborate up-do. And made up in a way that wouldn't be completely out of place in the Capitol.

Her bodacious get up made quite a contrast to Iris's own more innocent looking attire.

But she could see how they would fit together onscreen. The girlish clothes she wore would be perfect to emphasise Sarah's mature, more womanly appearance. Her sister couldn't exactly go wrong accentuating her allure by making her younger sister look more childish in comparison.

Iris didn't like that she was being used as a dress up doll to keep her family relevant in the eyes of the rabid media of the Capitol. But she didn't have the energy to object, especially when she remembered her recent promise to Nolan.

So, she didn't call her sister on the exploitation behind the choosing of their outfits. Instead she sagged in defeat and went to sit at the vanity by her window.

That compliance surprised Sarah, Iris could see her shocked expression and raised eyebrows in the mirror. But, being Sarah, she recovered very quickly. Strode over to where Iris sat and picked up a comb. Iris cringed at the sight of it in her sister's hands, knowing she was about to violently lose quite a lot of hair in the next few minutes.

"Since you're dressed, and not arguing with me, I'm guessing Nolan talked to you," she began as she started to comb Iris's still damp hair.

It was the only time one could attempt to try and brush it into any sort of order. By the time it was dry, her hair would have become a huge mass of wild curls that would be more likely to cannibalise a comb than to be wrestled into anything simple as a ponytail.

"He did," Iris confirmed, "Said that behaving would be worth it."

"He's right."

"I know, that's why I'm sitting here letting you mutilate me," Iris replied as Sarah gave a great tug and untangled a large knot of hair, "Acting like a marionette for a while's better than being dragged off by the Peacekeepers."

"Exactly," Sarah agreed as she started to twist Iris's hair into a series of different looking plaits, and used their close proximity as an opportunity to lower her voice and speak quietly enough that the listening devices, that were doubtlessly littering the room, wouldn't overhear, "And however much we don't get along, none of us want you to be dragged off by those fuckers. The longer they see you as an innocent kid who can't do anything to hurt the Capitol, the better for you. Trust me."

Iris was surprised herself at that. She had never heard her sister speak like that about the Peacekeepers or the Capitol. It was such a shock that despite her better instincts telling her to leave it lie, Iris couldn't stop herself trying to find out more.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Iris asked, watching with a bizarre fascination as the mane of curls she was used to seeing in the mirror was gradually weaved into about a dozen plaits that were pinned and wound into a mound high on the back of her head.

"You're the smart one, kid," Sarah responded with an unusually sober look taking over her face, "I'm sure you can guess."

Iris took that to mean Sarah couldn't say what she was referencing aloud. Not here, not in the District Hall, not with the Capitol's ears everywhere. Whatever Sarah was apparently trying to protect her from was big. It made Iris realise that at least some of the rumours flying around the underground about President Snow and the Games were true.

The thought made her sick to her stomach. She didn't want to know, but she felt she had to. So she asked anyway.

"He didn't, not you?"

She waited a few minutes for the answer, as Sarah finished off her hair and gave up trying to get the flyaway wisps she couldn't get into the plaits to behave and stay pinned down. Each second of that time was filled with terrible anxiety and the almost overpowering desire to empty her stomach.

"No," she answered at last, and Iris nearly cried in relief, "Not me. Not Nolan. We're too intimidating for the rich and powerful of the Capitol. But others, yes."

That admission caused Iris to rethink a lot of her actions, her beliefs, and her attitude. It also gave her reason to revaluate the reasons for the strategically chosen outfits she and her sister were wearing that day. Making her seem more innocent and young, drawing attention to Sarah as the more womanly of the two of them, it was trying to keep the President and the Capitol's attention away from Iris.

She didn't know how to feel about that, other than grateful. And ashamed of how hard she'd always fought Sarah on the issue of maintaining their family's image in the past.

"Okay, I get it now," she admitted, though she hated that she'd been in the wrong so much in the past.

"Thanks," Sarah graciously accepted the unspoken apology for what it was, and leaned down close to Iris's ear to whisper, "Just know that what we're doing is for the best. And going along with it will be worth it. You have no idea just how much you can be hurt by some people, and Nolan and I don't want you to ever have to know."

"I do, now."

"Good, because we've got to do your make-up, the cameras are arriving in about twenty minutes."

"Ugh."


End file.
